HARRY POTTER IN NAZI GERMANY – Herman Töpfer and the Philosopher's Stone

The year is 1938. Harry Potter is a 14 year old kid living in London who discovered that his parents, Jakob and Linda Töpfer, were Adolf Hitler's closest friends and court magicians who were shot by Judeo-Bolshevik controlled state police during the Beer Hall Putsch 1923 and he was afterwards entrusted to his burgeouise uncle and his suffragette wife who swore never to let Harry… sorry, Hermann know about his true calling.

But destiny always finds its way as Harry meets Reubens Haggrüd, his Bavarian godfather, who reveals the true horror of conspiracy between Jews and Bolsheviks who seek to control the world and neuter the überrmenschen race of Aryans, the German people.

Harry realizes that to honor both his Fatherland and Führer, he must travel to the Reich, where he meets Roland and Henrietta as well as other wizards in training in the magic school of Kehlsteinhaus – the Eagle's Nest..

Chapter I.

Harry Potter woke up. It was dark in the house and darker so in his tiny room under the stairs. The house creaked as he heard his uncle Vernon Dursley descend from cozy upstairs bedroom into the kitchen to eat some blood pudding and jellied eels while sipping his morning tea. Harry's blanket was wet as it was raining outside in the best british fashion and his room had no heating.

Vernon's wife was already up, making banners that laugh in the face of traditional family values that keep society together. Today's banner had „EQUAL PAY FOR WOMEN" written on it in large bright red letters. Not that Petunia ever worked in her life, mind you. Her husband was a wealthy industrialist happily exploiting uneducated massess for blood money. He co-owned a Hawker factory and war profiteering was bringing more than enough cash to set them for life and put their son Dudley – whose mongoloid features shed no doubt onto his inferior genetic heritage that was unworthy of propagating into next generation – into Cambridge when the time comes.

Harry closed his eyes and drowsed. He had a dream about his parents again. He knew that his father and mother died fighting for the rights of children to work for 30% pay and was proud at them for doing so. Everyday he was told by his father how even no-good layabout like Harry could contribute and make Great Britain even richer.

However, his father was never a proud industrialist in his dreams. Instead, he was a rebel, fighting against the unjust Treaty of Versailles armed with a Mosin-Nagant rifle which had a gleaming silvery barrel. This time he stood proudly in the streets of some great city next to an imposing figure with a moustache. His father was an epitome of a Man. Tall, blonde, with a great jawline and muscles bulging under his shirt. His mother was likewise tall and blonde, with wide hips suited for giving many sons to her country. In his dream, he saw the determination in their faces and love for their leader and country before their looks distorted by the pain caused by several gunshot wounds.

Harry sighed and decided that it was time to wake up. His two lightning-shaped scars on his forehead ached. He wondered whether there would be sausage or some bread at the table, because he hated the taste of jellied eels and one look at his British uncle's rotten teeth has always reminded him that he does not want to eat food like Vernon does, lest he ends up like him.

Just another day serving the Queen and Country, Harry thought. How I hate bowing my head and pandering to the degenerate aristos. I wish to find a true Leader someday. A man that can inspire me to serve beyond the call of duty, to give everything I have to fight for a worthy cause. To stand against all the oppressors in the world…

But he knew nothing ever happens in the Dursley house, where status quo is everything and the massess blindly let üntermenschen like his uncle exploit them.